


(I Left My Heart In) Metropolis

by incorrectbatfam



Category: DCU (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: Tim and Kon’s first anniversary takes quite the trip.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	(I Left My Heart In) Metropolis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoPmessedupCassandraCain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoPmessedupCassandraCain/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i left my heart in metropolis // timkon amv](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/731967) by Alina Hubbard-Riley. 



> The title comes from the song Metropolis by Owl City.

“Hey babe, it’s me again. Though you probably already know that ‘cause, you know, you have my contact. I, um, was calling to say happy anniversary. I know you’re probably busy with another meeting or something, but I was hoping we might, I dunno, do a video call? Let me know when you get this. I love you.”

Sighing, Kon ended the voicemail and drew a knee to his chest.

The view from atop the Daily Planet globe was, to put simply, exquisite. The midday sun was a white sand island in the middle of an ocean. Colorful ant-like cars raced up and down the ribbon roads. Across the city, he heard his little brother annoying his friend with a Fortnite dance, and said friend socking him in the shoulder. Kon chuckled.

He reached out, expecting to find a gloved hand fitting into his own—hands the universe custom-crafted for Kon. A wave of disappointment crashed over him. What’s the point of daylight if it wasn’t shining on the person who mattered most?

Alright, maybe he was being dramatic. Can’t blame a guy for missing his boyfriend. Especially when said boyfriend’s been on back-to-back business trips for almost a month.

He ran his fingers through his dark curls.

“Told you we’d find him brooding here.”

Kon slipped his shades on. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

Cassie dropped Bart next to Kon, and Bart playfully punched Kon’s shoulder. “Dude, invisibility’s not one of your superpowers.”

“I’m not brooding,” Kon said.

Cassie snorted. “Kon, it’s the middle of the day and you’re hunched over the top of a skyscraper like Batman.”

“Tim’s on a business trip again, isn’t he?” Bart asked.

Kon ran his fingers through his hair. “I _thought_ we could spend our anniversary together. Especially ‘cause it’s our first one. It’s not his fault—his folks need him. I just wish I could do _something_.”

Bart hummed, legs swinging as though he was trying to run in place. Cassie took a seat next to Bart—a tight squeeze considering they were on top of a giant sphere. Kon’s mind ran through all the romantic things he could’ve been doing with Tim right now.

Bart’s voice popped Kon's thought balloon like a thumbtack.

“Go to him.”

“What?”

“You have powers for a reason,” Bart said. “Why not go to him? That way, neither of you have to spend today alone. You still have…” He checked his phone. “Eleven hours and thirty-five minutes.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Kon said. “And I have time to grab a gift! You’re a genius, Bart!” He saluted his friends as his foot pushed off the globe. “Tell Clark I’ll be in Seattle if he needs me.”

After a pit stop at the flower and chocolate stores—getting the best a fifty-dollar allowance could buy—he tucked the box and bouquet under his arm and slipped the remaining seventy-five cents into his pocket.

Metropolis became a sewing table as Kon went higher, farther, faster. The towering skyscrapers were needles in a rolling chartreuse cushion. Golden cornfields threaded through rich green velvet, like the time Lois tailored an old t-shirt to fit Jon’s friend. Snow white cotton puffs decorated the ground. The ocean was a bolt of satin draped over the edge, gleaming under the light, and the clouds were a cotton ceiling so close Kon could reach out and touch them.

If he was Black Canary, the sky would’ve shaken with how he whooped at the top of his lungs. He felt the wind wash over every fold and crevice. Pure adrenaline coursed through his veins. Kon ran his fingers through his curls before they could get too tangled and lifted his sunglasses.

The Atlantic states gave way to the Great Lakes, which looked like puddles. As the wind picked up, Kon recognized the Sears tower. Chicago. He pushed on.

Kon passed Illinois as quickly as he entered. The same went for Wisconsin (as tempted as he was to stop for the cheese festival), and by three o’clock, he was flying over Minnesota—Fawcett City, to be specific.

The smell of smoke reached him first. Sirens came second. Kon halted and surveyed the scene below him.

People fled as an angry orange blaze ravaged a Five and Dime. Cop cars and fire engines surrounded the building, hoses spraying, but it was like trickling water into a campfire. 

“Look, it’s Superboy!”

“Huh?” Kon glanced down at the “S” on his chest. “Oh yeah, I guess it is.”

As awesome as being a hero was, did the universe have to pick right now for him to save the day?

Cameras clicked and people cheered as Kon circled the building, smothering the exterior flames with his frost breath. Wasn’t this Billy Batson’s territory? Where was he?

Kon inhaled, ready to send another gust.

“Help!” a woman exclaimed. “My daughter’s dog is in there!”

Kon cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, ma’am, he’s in good hands.”

Smoke filled his vision as he stepped through the doorway. Plaster and ash rained from the ceiling as though it was an earthquake, the thick flakes coating Kon’s clothes. He coughed.

A pained howl echoed through the smoldering aisles, which Kon traced it to the opposite corner of the shop. He kicked through a pyramid of burning goods and tossed aside an overturned shopping cart. The howling continued—a steady tone; a string for Kon to follow.

Pushing the forklift aside, he came across a labrador retriever in a red-and-white vest leashed to an electric wheelchair outside the bathroom. 

Kon tossed the flowers and chocolate aside. He tucked the chair under one arm and the dog under the other. Kon could only watch as the flames swallowed the gifts. Any twinge of regret that should’ve been there was absent.

He said to the dog, “Let’s get outta here.”

A wall of frost pushed against the roaring blaze as Kon cleared a path to the door. He punched through a falling beam. The sun shone on his skin and fresh air rushed into his lungs as he flew away from the building, back into the crowd where the woman and her daughter awaited.

He touched the ground in front of them, setting the wheelchair and the dog down. “Here you go—safe and sound.”

“Thank you, Superboy!” the little girl said.

“All in a day’s work,” Kon said. 

Putting out the rest of the fire was easy work, between Kon’s freeze breath and the firefighters’ fire-fighting. The shop had seen better days, but the store owners expressed their gratitude nonetheless through the grandparent-like rib-crushing hugs they gave Kon.

People flooded him like… well… a _flood_. Reporters and eager bystanders alike tried to get close, shoving past police barricades and each other.

A camera flashed.

“Superboy, can you tell us what you’re doing out here in Fawcett City?”

Kon stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “Just stopping by.”

A reporter shoved a microphone in his face. Two more followed.

“Are you planning on usurping Captain Marvel as the resident hero?”

“What?!? No!”

Shutters clicked at a million miles a minute. 

Someone shoved a piece of paper into his hands. “Superboy, take my number!”

“No thanks, I’m taken.”

Kon’s hand flew over his mouth as soon as the words came out, and the only thing his brain could muster was a string of expletives aimed at himself.

“Who is this lucky person?”

“How long have you been together?”

“Is it one of your fellow heroes?”

“I-I gotta go, like, _right now_ ,” Kon said. “There’s, um, aliens… somewhere.”

He evaded the grab of some handsy people and shot up into the clouds. Kon held his breath until the crowd, after several agonizingly long minutes, dispersed. Breathing a sigh of relief, he touched down in the now-empty parking lot.

Somewhere in the smoldering, charred ruins were Tim’s gifts. Kon’s eyes welled up at the prospect of having nothing to give. He plopped down on the curb and buried his face in his hands.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

Kon looked up. “Billy?”

Billy—not Captain Marvel or Shazam, just plain old Billy Batson with plastic shopping bags hanging from his arms—fiddled with his sleeve. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure?” Kon scooted aside, brows furrowed.

“Sorry I couldn't make it in time,” Billy said. “You know… errands and stuff. But I saw what you did. Thanks for covering for me, man.”

“It’s nothing,” Kon said. “Just doing my job.”

Billy pursed his lips. “I saw the footage. I’m sorry you had to…” He gestured to the ashen remains.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re just _things_. Plus, Tim already knows I’m broke as heck.”

“Still.” Billy reached into one of the shopping bags and pulled out a head of broccoli and a box of raisin bran. “It’s no flowers and chocolate, but it’s something to give. Plus, I’m sure Darla will be happy not to see these in the kitchen.”

Kon couldn’t help but laugh and ruffle Billy’s hair. “Clark was right: you’re a good kid.”

Billy’s eyes lit up. “Superman talks about me?”

“ _Constantly_.”

A beaming smile broke out on Billy’s face. “Oh man, wait ‘till I tell Freddy!”

Kon checked his watch. “I better get going if I’m gonna make our anniversary. I owe you one, kid. Holler if you need me.”

He tucked the items under his arm and in less than a second he had liftoff. Minnesota disappeared under its snowy white sheets as Kon took to the skies. 

Some hundred miles into Idaho, Kon felt a plop on his shoulder. He recoiled at the sight and smell of the chalky white droppings on his leather jacket. 

This is what he gets for flying at bird-level.

Kon touched down on a narrow dirt road, thick pines surrounding him on both sides. He spotted a pickup truck in the distance and waved. 

The vehicle pulled over. A burly lumberjill with a cigar was in the driver’s seat while the passenger rolled her window down a crack.

“Need any help?” the passenger asked.

“Uh, sorta?” Kon scratched the back of his neck. “Do you know where the nearest laundromat is?”

“Keep goin’ down this road, then take the exit toward Boise. You should see a gas station. Laundromat’s just ‘cross the street.” 

The lumberjill scanned him, glancing at the items in Kon’s hand. “You runnin’ errands or somethin’?”

“On my way to see my partner, actually,” Kon said.

“With those?”

The passenger scoffed, playfully punching the lumberjill in the arm. “You can’t talk—your idea of a dinner date’s Pringles ‘n apple cobbler.” She turned back to Kon. “Good luck, kid. Hope it goes well.”

According to his watch, he landed in the parking lot of a laundromat at exactly six-thirty, in the outskirt of the outskirts of Boise. The short winter sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the last rays weren’t nearly as bright as the neon signs reflecting off the wet asphalt. There were only two vehicles parked: a used car and a motorcycle.

Cold air nipped his skin as he took the jacket off. Leaning back in their chair, feet propped up on the desk, a teenage employee was fast asleep, fast food wrappers and homework strewn across the surface. Kon rang the bell. The employee jolted awake, dropping their pen.

Kon coughed awkwardly, holding up the jacket. “I, uh, need to wash this real fast.”

They pointed to the row of washers and dryers.

“Right. I knew that.”

He inserted his last three quarters into the machine along with a detergent pod someone left behind. While he was at it, he tossed in the soot-covered gloves too. 

Only after hitting the start button did Kon make eye contact with the one other customer there, who was shoving a muddy parka and snow pants into the washer a few machines down.

“Superboy.”

“Captain Cold.”

Snart drew the cold gun from its holster, finger hovering over the trigger.

Kon crossed his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, man, it’s getting late and I’m tired as heck. Just let me wash my stuff and go.”

Snart growled. “Why are you even here?”

Kon sighed. “Between you and me, I’m heading over to my partner for our anniversary.” He tilted his head. “What about you? What are you doing all the way out in Idaho?”

“On my way to Juneau for a cryotechnology convention.”

“See? We both got places to be, so why not call a truce and we can figure out another place to duke it out? Who knows, maybe the Flash can join us or something.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Snart put the gun away.

Neither of them spoke as the machines rumbled. They sat on opposite sides of a long wooden bench, which Kon suspected was bought from a high school locker room, based on the _“AP Calc sucks eggs”_ scratched in blue pen. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. The fluorescent lavender lights exacerbated the temptation to lie down and fall asleep right there, clutching the broccoli and cereal box to his chest… 

Kon wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, or even if he was asleep. The washing machines generated a distorted static, lurking in the background, not bothering him, but also not _not_ bothering him. He wasn’t whether he dreamed of Snart saying, _“I look forward to kicking your butt”_ as he left, and he wasn’t sure if his two-finger salute and _“Right back at ‘cha”_ was a figment too. 

All he knew was when he opened his eyes, the sky was darker, the machine had finished, and two and a half hours had passed, and he was all alone. Kon slipped on the warm jacket and gloves. As long as there were no more interruptions, Kon could make the last leg before midnight.

He made a few stops here and there—pushing a car out of a ditch, rescuing a cat from a tree, taking an injured cyclist to a hospital and the bike to a repair shop. Kon didn’t think it shaved much time from his remaining hours, but when he checked his watch, it was already almost eleven P.M. Luckily, the city lights were in sight.

Kon saw the drops fall from the sky, but it hadn’t occurred to him to fly above the clouds or use his tactile telekinesis shield until the sprinkle turned into a trademark Seattle drizzle. By then, it drenched his entire body—he saw no point in using his powers now, other than to protect his items.

Soaring above the skylines, Kon scanned the buildings until he spotted the ninth-floor balcony of Tim’s five-star hotel. 

He stopped just a few feet from the balcony. The room was dark. Kon listened. Why was Tim’s heartbeat was halfway across the city?

Kon checked his watch: **11:34 PM**. Surely, Tim should be in his room.

On top of a nearby building, an electronic billboard flashed.

> **Wednesday, December 23rd**
> 
> **8:34 PM**
> 
> **High of 45ºF with 90% chance of precipitation**
> 
> **_Brought to you by the Weather Channel_ **

Kon slapped his forehead.

_He forgot about the time zones._

Tim was probably at an important corporate dinner or fancy party. And they weren’t out to the public yet (Kon might have messed up a little in Fawcett City), so it wasn’t like Superboy could make a surprise appearance the way Kryptonians did at Gotham galas. 

With his TTK shield up, there was nothing to do but rest his chin on the railing and stare into the window as he hovered in the air, like Krypto when the Kents accidentally leave him outside.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At a quarter to twelve, yellow light flooded the room. Kon perked up when he saw Tim toss a blazer aside and loosen his tie. He knocked.

Tim jumped. “What the— _Kon?!?_ ”

Kon smiled and waved, all the troubles of his long journey melting away.

Tim all but kicked the balcony doors down as he ushered a sopping wet Kon inside. As he began drying Kon’s face with a hand towel, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh… happy anniversary? I got you something.” Kon held out the broccoli and cereal. 

“Ah, yes, nothing says true love like a smooth digestive tract.” Tim wrapped the towel around Kon’s hair and motioned for him to take off his jacket and shoes. “What kind of himbo drops everything to travel across the country on a whim?”

“The finest in Metropolis.” Kon beamed.

Tim rolled his eyes and placed a peck on Kon’s lips. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Kon giggled. “I love you too.” He tucked a strand of Tim’s unruly hair behind his ear. “We still have ten minutes left of our anniversary. How do you wanna celebrate?”

“We can steam the broccoli in the coffee maker—I saw Dick do that once,” Tim said. “And I think the mini-fridge has milk to go with the cereal.”

“Sounds like a romantic dinner to me.”


End file.
